


Important.

by WinterTheWriter



Series: The Oncoming Slut [6]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: As in Post Tesla, Bottom!Doctor, Can definitely be read alone, Early Days, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, PWP, Post Night of Terror, Smut, Sort Of, Top!Yaz, slight d/s themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22340386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/pseuds/WinterTheWriter
Summary: The Doctor's been distant ever since their last encounter, even if she denies the mood change. So Yaz confronts her about how "important" she suddenly is to her.*STANDALONE*
Relationships: The Doctor/Yasmin Khan, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Series: The Oncoming Slut [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1263446
Comments: 2
Kudos: 78





	Important.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks!!! Yeah I'm adding this to my Oncoming Slut series but that's just to keep things tidy. it is technically the same universe but as any regular readers know, it's not exactly a...plot heavy universe. So this is just smut where Yaz tops the hell out of the Doctor and the Doctor is not complaining one bit.
> 
> Also, to my regular readers and anyone who takes the time to kudos/comment my work, I love you all so much even if I don't reply to your comment, and your words go straight to my heart and make a home there so please never stop. 
> 
> ENJOY

“I was surprised, y’know,” Yaz tells the Doctor one morning, before the boys have risen. “At what you said back there. With Tesla.”

The Doctor doesn’t even look up from the bit of the console she’s fiddling with, face scrunched up the way only hers does as she works, goggles firmly on. “Hmm? Which bit? Said lots, not sure if y’noticed.” 

“The part about me. Bein’ important.” At that, the Doctor freezes in place before slowly straightening up. She turns to Yaz with a frown, brows furrowed. 

“Why would that surprise you, Yaz?” Her voice is softer this time, sadder. What could possibly convince /her/ Yaz that she was anything less than everything? 

Despite such a sad comment, though, Yaz just shrugs her shoulders before crossing her arms, leaning against one of the grand crystalline pillars with a soft smile on her face. “S’just…I thought things had changed. Didn’t think y’saw me the same way.”

“I…hadn’t intended for—,”

“Oh c’mon, Doctor. You know full and well you’ve gone distant on me.” She doesn’t sound angry, though. If anything, it’s almost like she’s teasing the Doctor, coaxing her into speaking. The Doctor sighs and runs her fingers through her hair, taking her goggles off with the movement. She looks around the control room and then back at Yaz. Ryan and Graham could walk in at any moment, and this isn’t exactly something she wants them to overhear. 

“Let’s talk in my room, hmm?” When Yaz’s face immediately falls at the implication of that, the Doctor rushes to her, hands and head shaking back and forth. “Not like that! Not like that. I want you, Yaz. I want t’be with you. I just…don’t want the boys as an audience if they wake up.” Yaz takes a deep breath before that small smile comes back, and she nods with it.

“Yeah, alright. Your room.”

~

They’re sitting cross-legged across from each other on the mattress, knees brushing knees. The Doctor’s bedroom door is very firmly closed this time. She takes Yaz’s hands in her own, marveling at the soft, warm, human feel of them as her thumbs brush across their backs. “I’m sorry I’ve been distant, Yaz. Really, I am.” 

“Y’won’t talk to me, Doctor,” she replies softly, squeezing the Doctor’s hands. “Bad enough you’re distant, but I don’t even know why. Even after last time, with the Master —,” the Doctor flinches just slightly, “—I still don’t actually know what /happened/.”

With a long exhale that puffs out her cheeks, the Doctor nods her head in understanding. She’s right, as always. But it’s been so long since the Doctor’s been able to truly share anything — she’s forgotten what it’s like. Not to mention just the sheer mention of her home planet is knives her hearts, and she hasn’t quite learned how to cope with that yet. 

Still, she owes Yaz some form of an explanation. Something to grasp onto. “I…can’t tell you, yet. Not because I don’t trust you, but because it’s — it’s too fresh, Yaz. It’s too raw. Suffice it to say I saw something really and truly /bad/ and I don’t know how to recover from it, or if recovery is even /possible/. But it’s not you, alright? /You/ have never been the problem, and never will be. I’m all in with us.” She releases one of Yaz’s hands to bring her own to Yaz’s cheek, thumb stroking that beautiful skin. “Don’t ever, for a second, believe you are anything less than the /most important/ to me, alright?” 

The smile she gets in return is like the sun. Like home. Yaz nods, turning her head slightly to press a kiss to the Doctor’s palm. “Alright.”

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah. I trust you, Doctor. I’m not gonna pretend to know everything about you, nor am I gonna pretend I’m gonna be okay with that forever. But for now? While you’re obviously healing from somethin’ pretty traumatic? Take all the time you need, s’long as I know you’re still mine.” 

“Oh Yasmin Khan, that’s the best thing I am.” 

They share dopey, ridiculous smiles before meeting in the middle with a soft, passionate kiss that’s like sinking into a hot bath on a cold day, all the comforts in life bundled up into one Yaz. That one kiss turns to two, to three, to Yaz clambering into the Doctor’s lap and straddling her. She wraps her arms around the Doctor’s neck, sucking her lower lip into her mouth and humming at the soft moan the action grants her. The Doctor runs greedy hands up and down Yaz’s back before catching on the bottom of her shirt on the upstroke and taking it with her. They barely separate long enough to pull it off. 

Hips rocking with increasing need, hearts pounding in her chest, the Doctor breaks away from the heavenly torture of Yaz’s mouth to smear kisses down her neck, sucking wetly at the skin. Her hands come around to cup Yaz’s breasts through her bra, massaging that giving flesh as Yaz moans out her name and scratches her nails across the Doctor’s scalp. Suddenly, the fingers in her hair tighten and yank her up, forcing a ragged groan from her throat at the feeling. /Definitely/ something to explore later on. “Somethin’ wrong?” the Doctor rasps, looking up at her in a daze. 

Yaz smiles radiantly back at her and for a moment she forgets how to breathe. “Nah. Jus’ thinkin’ it’s my turn, is all.”

“Are we takin’ turns now?”

“Are you gonna argue with me for wanting to eat you out?”

“….No, nope. No, I don’t think so. Don’t think I am.” 

Yaz giggles at the response and climbs off her lap, if only to nudge the Doctor up her bed until she’s laying back on it properly. As she watches, Yaz unhooks her own bra and tosses it aside while the Doctor follows her movements with a hungry gaze. The Doctor fully expects Yaz to climb atop her and help her undress, chasing each movement with those soft hands, but instead Yaz merely stands at the foot of the bed and crosses her arms. “Strip.”

“…Beg pardon?” the Doctor squeaks out, a sound she will forever deny making. 

“Strip. I want to watch. Want you to show me what’s mine.” 

Oh, Yasmin Khan is a devious, evil woman. The words send a hot shudder through the Doctor’s body, settling right in her throbbing clit. She’s soaking wet and she’s barely been touched; what’s becoming of her? Sitting up slowly, the Doctor licks her lips in a rare display of nerves as she unsnaps her braces, untucks her shirt. Sure, Yaz has seen her nude plenty of times, and she’s personally never had a problem with modesty in the first place, but something about it like /this/ is different. Something about it makes shame and arousal war inside her in the best of ways, and it might be just a /tad/ addictive. 

The Doctor’s shirt and bra are gone easily, but when she goes to stand to take off her trousers, Yaz holds up her hand and raises her eyebrows. “And where d’you think you’re going?”

Swallowing thickly, the Doctor murmurs, “I was going to…take off my—,”

“Y’can do that without standing, I think.”

“Not /easily,/ but—,”

“Who said I wanted easy? Wiggle. C’mon, chop-chop.” This is a brand new side of Yaz. She’s always been confident, but this level of /dominance/ is certainly a change. Not that the Doctor’s complaining. It’s funny - she used to always be the “top” when she was a bloke, aside from the rare exception (would YOU try to top Shakespeare?), but now she is definitely seeing the appeal of the other side. 

After a shaky inhale, the Doctor undoes the clasp on her trousers before slowly working them and her panties down her legs, lifting and wriggling her hips in a way that /can’t/ be sexy. All the while Yaz just watches her with that taunting smirk, gorgeous and regal with her newfound power. Once her clothes are kicked off, socks included, Yaz finally crawls back onto the bed. She keeps intense, sultry eye contact with the Doctor as she moves, heavy breasts swaying with the motion before they’re face to face. The Doctor gulps and Yaz’s smirk turns to a shark-like smile. “Good girl,” she purrs, leaning down to brush their lips together.

There’s an unspoken rule in the air that the Doctor is not to try and kiss her, but oh, the temptation is agony. 

“So now what, Yaz?” she whispers. “Can’t help but noticed your pants are still on.”

“Mhmm, they are. And they’re staying that way. /This/ is about you.” At the Doctor’s raised eyebrow at her desire to not even undress fully, Yaz breaks character just to lean down more and whisper, “Also, I’ve got my period,” before giggling. The Doctor giggles back, shaking her head fondly as she leans back against the pillows.

“Y’know I don’t mind, right?”

“Yeah, but I do, so hush up and let me see if you can scream for me.” 

Well. Yaz is certainly very convincing. “Yes, Ma’am,” the Doctor flirts, daring to skim her hands up Yaz’s flanks before they’re inevitably swatted away. 

“Hands at your sides. No touchin’. Deal?”

“Deal.” The Doctor wriggles a little to get extra comfy and grins cheekily up at Yaz, who just playfully rolls her eyes in response. 

Yaz then proceeds to /torture/ the Doctor like she’s paid to do it. She skims the tip of her tongue down the Doctor’s neck, making her moan lightly and tip her head back, before she skips straight to her breasts. Tongue laving around the sensitive bud, she sucks it into her mouth with a low sound. The Doctor grunts and arches her back towards that sharp pleasure, fingers knotting in the covers as she grits her teeth. Oh, this is going to be harder than she thought. Yaz’s hand cups and massages her other breast almost cruelly, rough and greedy as the Doctor keens, her hips twitching up uselessly. Wetness is already pooling on the covers between the Doctor’s legs and shame makes her try to close them, but Yaz is right there to knee them back apart. 

After making sure both nipples are sucked and tweaked almost to the point of pain, Yaz licks a ridiculously slow trail down the Doctor’s quivering stomach, muscles twitching under the skin in an effort to stay as still as she can. Yaz brings a hand between the Doctor’s legs and trails her index finger through her wet heat, humming at the feeling. “Mmm, you’re a bit excited, aren’t ya?” she taunts. The Doctor feels her face blush - blush! - as she bites her own lower lip, able only to nod at her words. “Sorry, what was that?” 

“Yaz…”

“I’m waiting,” she intones, swirling her finger almost lazily, and way too lightly, around the Doctor’s clit. With a pained, needy sound, the Doctor swallows thickly and slams her head back against the pillows. 

“Yes, Yaz. I’m excited.”

“For…?”

“You. For you.” 

“Well Doctor,” Yaz murmurs, pausing to bite the jut of the Doctor’s hipbone until she mewls, “that’s all you had to say.” And then suddenly, two fingers push into the Doctor’s heat while a hot mouth closes over her clit, and the Doctor practically jackknifes off the bed in sudden, pleasured shock. She moans out like an wild thing, a sound she can’t recall ever making before, as Yaz thickly sucks that sensitive bud while fucking against it from the inside. 

Oh she knows what she’s doing. The Doctor may have underestimated how much she knows what she’s doing. Loud moan after moan leave her, hands knotting desperately in the covers as she plants her feet on the mattress to grind up against Yaz’s face. Yaz is having none of it, though. She traps the Doctor’s legs with her own and pins them down, humming against her as she thrusts in a third finger. Every pull of the Doctor’s clit ends with Yaz’s tongue licking across the sensitive tip of it, stimulating absolutely every inch with a single-minded focus that’s surely going to kill her. 

Already, heat is coiling almost painfully in her gut, sweat and goose pimples breaking out across her skin. For a second the Doctor thinks her respiratory bypass might kick in with how harshly she’s panting, how ragged her breaths are between desperate chants of Yaz’s name and pleas for more. “Don’t stop - /ah/ - Yaz, gods, /please/,” she begs, angling her hips as much as she’s able as she squeezes her eyes shut tightly. As much as she wants to see Yaz between her thighs, she knows the sight alone will be her end. Not yet, not yet…

“Y’know what I want, Doctor.” Yaz says the words /into/ her, against her clit, and it is way hotter than it has any right to be. “Look. /Look/.” The Doctor does, lifting her head to stare down at her through the haze of lust and pleasure. Yaz, lips still brushing her most intimate part, smirks. “Scream for me.” 

And she fastens her lips around her clit once more, teeth scraping just so as she licks the sensitive bud in a perfect swirl, fingers fucking harder and deeper while the Doctor arches, and moans, and finally - /finally/ - screams out Yaz’s name to the ceiling. The pleasure is eclipsing, sharp in its intensity, each clench of her body around Yaz’s fingers bring another wave of toe-curling pleasure that seems to radiate through every vein in her body. 

The Doctor falls back against the mattress like a puppet with cut strings, panting heavily as she stares upwards in awe. Awe, or she really is dying - hard to tell the difference right now. She finds she doesn’t much care either way; this is a happy way to go. Yaz disappears briefly to wash her hands and face (which the Doctor internally pouts at) before climbing back into bed and into the Doctor’s arms, peppering her face with kisses until she scrunches up her nose. “You’re brilliant, y’know,” the Doctor slurs, stroking Yaz’s hair back to grin at her. 

“Not so bad yourself,” Yaz laughs, tucking her head into the crook of the Doctor’s neck. They breathe and rest together in a comfortable silence, hands stroking skin, quiet kisses traded back and forth. 

“So then,” the Doctor whispers, pressing a kiss to Yaz’s temple. “We’re good?”

“…Yeah, babe. Yeah, we’re good.”


End file.
